Duct tape bound sneakers pad through the dew damp grass in the early morning. Ragged threads from the bottom of the jeans trail in the dirt, and from the top a hand slides from the pocket to clasp another’s.
“Long time, no see, Parker,” says the other, clasping the hand firmly.
“Yeah, must’ve been since before you shipped out, huh?” He claps the other on the back in a bro hug, before pulling away as quickly as he can without being rude. Flash does the same, shrugging in response.
Peter likes to think he doesn’t have toxic masculinity, or is at least able to recognize and change any behaviors tied to it, but there’s not much in the world that could get him to give Flash a true hug. He doesn’t hate the man, hasn’t for a long time, but they’ve never quite been able to forget highschool. And that’s alright. They’re not here for each other today.
Flash’s eyes see something to the side where he’s pointedly not looking at Peter, and he raises his arm in a wave.
“Harry! Mary Jane!”
Peter looks over, and sure enough the other half of the group is stepping out of some fancy electric car onto the sidewalk. MJ starts up the hill, and Harry follows after once it’s locked. Peter adjusts his collar again. If anyone’s going to notice last night’s bruising— unfortunately from an activity that was not only fully clothed but decidedly not fun— then it’s MJ.
“Sup, tiger?”
Peter barely gets a chance to open his arms before she’s hanging from his neck. He wraps his arms right around her, leaning down to bury his face in her neck. He allows a selfish deep breath and sigh. His shoulders drop, tension melting in the warmth of her arms, before he releases her with a smile and allows her to give Flash a tight hug as well.
That’s when Harry reaches Peter. They stand in front of each other for a moment, and Peter wants nothing more than to give him the same treatment as MJ, but doesn’t move. Harry threw a bomb at him three weeks ago. He probably won’t do that today, but that’s no guarantee he would accept any affection, any camaraderie. And yet, Harry is still standing in front of Peter, still looking at him with what doesn’t seem to be anger or disdain, so Peter slowly opens his arms. He doesn’t know what his face looks like right now, doesn’t know what Harry sees in his eyes, but he hopes it’s enough.
Harry steps forward. He doesn’t quite hug him, but he leans into Peter’s chest, and allows the arms that come up to envelop his oldest friend. Peter’s throat closes, his arms tensing as he actively holds back from squeezing hard enough to hurt Harry. It’s been so long since he’s been able to do this. Maybe it’s just because it’s a special occasion, but Peter allows the tentative flutter in his heart of hoping that maybe, just maybe, this one will be the time Harry will come back. This will be the time Harry stays.
Harry leans back against Peter’s arms, and Peter releases him. But Harry gives him a sad smile before turning to hug Flash, and the look MJ gives him when Peter meets her eyes is proud.
Their greetings finished, the four stand awkwardly in the light of the rising sun. MJ, as always, is the one to push the group to action. “C'mon gang. Time for some cardio.” She sets off down the path, and her boys fall in line behind her, as she no doubt knew they would.
Peter kicks familiar pebbles on oft-trodden dirt trails, remembering the countless times he’s taken this very route. His story could be told on this path. Nearly thirty years of unique experiences, conflicting ideals, and secrets running deeper than the dark of the ocean, all boiled down to this cold path in the early morning.
They slow as they grow closer to their destination, until the last footstep places Peter in a loose half circle with the others. Hands in coat pockets, shoulders and elbows brushing, the four of them stare down. No words are spoken. Peter can’t think of any, and he doesn’t think they’re needed anyway. They all know why they’re here. They’ve all felt the same emotions they’re feeling now, a thousand or a million times.
Peter leans his head back, closes his eyes. A breeze ruffles his hair, and he can almost believe he hears laughter, floating on the scent of vanilla. It could be a new perfume MJ’s trying, but then again, Peter smells it every time he visits this headstone.
“Happy birthday, Gwendy.”